


Payments

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Post Gauda Prime, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon wants Blake to value him more than the rebellion and especially he wants Blake to listen to him. Frustrated, Avon resorts to attempted trickery and manipulation.</p><p>In chapter 2, they're reunited on Gauda Prime after several stressful years for both of them- probably more stressful for Avon who never was temperamentally suited to be a leader. Blake's attempt to play a similar trick on Avon is the last bit of pressure Avon needs to go <i>snap</i>.</p><p>*WARNING: Some characters behave cruelly and get away with it, totally without punishment or apologies. If you hate that, please, do not read this story.</p><p>(just found Chapter 3 amidst my archives & added it Jan 21, 2014. Wow it was written in 2001.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Partial Payment

**Author's Note:**

> The Rape/non-con warning is more than I feel the story requires. Dubious Consent is more accurate. Consent is given and confirmed and they are partners of previous long-standing relationship. They do nothing out of the ordinary for their previously established sexplay, however drugs and an abnormal state of mind make the ability to give consent dubious.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"Blake."

"No."

Avon rolled over in bed, too angry to speak. Blake touched him lightly on the back.

"You've done a marvellous job with the detector shield." Honey and velvet, that voice. Avon fought to maintain his resolve. Blake began kissing, slow, wet, sucking kisses over his back. Avon's shoulder-blades alternated between cringing away from the sweetness of it, and yearning back towards it. "I trust your skill." A deep, rich chuckle. "Your skills. All of them."

"This isn't a game," Avon said, annoyed to find his voice trembling. "I am not _asking_ for those parts."

"That's good, then, because you're not getting them." Blake blew into Avon's ear. "We can't take the time."

"How can we _not_ take the time!" Avon swatted at Blake's hands, which were now kneading his buttocks. "Every time _your_ ship runs afoul of Federation pursuit ships, I'm left with cleaning up the mess."

"And you do it so well."

"That's easy for you to say! I'm the one going blind micro-fusing bits and pieces to cobble together parts you're only going to vaporize the next day. I'm fed up with it." Avon moved aside from Blake, only to find himself flipped onto his back and gazing up into Blake's eyes. Laughing eyes, Avon called them- silently, very definitely keeping the description entirely to himself. "Are you listening?!"

"No," Blake said, trapping Avon's legs between his knees as he crouched low to kiss Avon's mouth, which softened under his. "Can't hear a word you say," Blake remarked, moving down to briefly suckle one nipple while his thumb and forefinger tweaked and teased the other one.

Avon squirmed, and managed to grab at Blake's hair. Unfortunately, his hands then traitorously urged Blake to continue his journey down.

"On the other hand," Blake said, just as his lips touched the tip of Avon's cock, "perhaps we should discuss this... at length."

"BLAKE!"

"Or not," Blake murmured and began licking and sucking in earnest. Blake was very good at it, having practiced on Avon for months. Several minutes later, Avon came with a yell, and relaxed back onto the bed, watching through slitted eyes as Blake fetched several pillows and the jar of lubricant.

"All right, Avon?" Blake asked, grinning.

Avon hated Blake's confidence that Avon could deny him nothing, but he didn't hate it enough to deny _himself_ , so he sighed and pulled up on his knees, mutely agreeing. _At least you can't get someone else to do **this** for you,_ he thought as Blake heaved and grunted sweatily on top of Avon, pumping hard and deep as Avon wriggled in appreciation and let his neurons go on holiday while he revelled in the purely physical sensation of being scrumptiously well-fucked.

***

Later Avon lay in a sodden, boneless heap as Blake climbed over him. Blake slapped Avon lightly on the buttocks, which were still tingling, and he chuckled. "How was that for a spare part?"

Before Avon could rise, either to the verbal challenge, or to the physical assault on his dignity, Blake had gone into the shower. He's _whistling!_ Avon thought he'd been angry at Blake before, but Blake's casual assumption that a good, hard fucking would keep Avon satisfied...well, he wasn't far off there, but that didn't change the facts.

Liberator could not 'self-repair' any of Avon's modifications or additions. Blake was too busy planning raids, and none of the others was technically qualified to help. Avon was having to improvise on top of improvisation, and soon that wasn't going to be enough. And would Blake stop to get parts when the detector shield was entirely inoperable? Not likely.

***

"Ah!" Avon jerked, hitting his head against the console when the sub-unit he was attempting to botch together blew in a shower of sparks. He half-fell backwards out onto the flight deck, coughing from a plume of smoke that had caught him right in the face.

"Are you all right?" Cally asked.

"More to the point, is the detector shield all right?" Vila asked.

Avon finished coughing and answered them, in order. "No, and no." He got up, cradling a burnt hand. "It's useless. Just like you, Vila."

"Come to the medical unit," Cally said, taking Avon firmly by the elbow.

They passed Blake in the corridor. "What happened?" Blake asked, reaching out to Avon, who shrugged away.

"The converter couldn't take the load." Avon added, "And that was the last possible by-pass. I _need_ those parts."

Blake rubbed his chin. "We can do without the detector shield for a while. This sector isn't heavily patrolled."

"And when we leave this sector?"

Blake shrugged. "If there's time, Avon, I'll consider..."

"Will you?" Avon spoke very softly. "Fine. You do that. You consider." Avon marched to the medical unit, and pointedly ignored soothing Auron homilies while his burns were treated. Once the tissue regenerator had finished, Avon flexed his hand, checking that the full range of motion was restored, and nodded. "Thank you, Cally."

"Avon."

He paused, "Yes?"

"Do not be too hard on Blake."

Avon turned, annoyed, but then he grinned, reached out and lightly touched her face with the tips of the fingers on the newly healed hand. "Oh, what a good idea. Thank you again, Cally." And he left the medical unit.

***

Before returning to the flight deck, Avon went down to the wardrobe room. His tunic had been scorched, and needed replacement.

***

Blake was standing on the flight deck with his back to the entrance, talking to Jenna, who had just come on duty. Vila hadn't left yet and was having a quiet chat with Cally.

Avon stood just off the flight deck, observing. He waited until there was a lull in both conversations, and stepped forward. His new outfit squeaked-perhaps a liability in a dramatic entrance, but unavoidable.

Blake half-turned and said, "Avon," in his patented conciliatory tones. He paused, and his eyes went up and down the length of Avon. "Ah, Avon," he went on, "you're all right, then."

"Never better," Avon said. He ran a hand up the length of his tight, black leather tunic, idly fingering the row of studs that marched across his chest. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, letting it become apparent that the trousers were just as closely-fitted.

Blake cleared his throat. Vila's eyes darted back and forth between the two Alphas. Jenna curled her lip and said, "Oh, I'm glad to see you weren't wasting your time on frivolity."

Avon smiled brilliantly. "Never that," he murmured, in his sexiest voice. He was gratified to see Jenna step back, blink, and then follow his gaze to Blake. She blinked again and then smiled, wickedly.

"So, you and Blake had a falling out?" Jenna asked in her forthright, Free-trader fashion.

"Falling-out?" Avon said, frowning slightly as he adjusted the waistband of his trousers. "What makes you think Blake was ever _in_ anything of mine?"

Jenna looked Avon up and down, slowly. "Ducting," she said succinctly, then turned back to the controls. "Sound travels."

"Ah. Should I apologize for disturbing your rest?" Avon replied, keeping a corner of his eye on Blake, who was visibly getting angry.

"Oh, no." From the angle of her head, Jenna was apparently also observing Blake's reactions. "It was quite entertaining."

"Oh, good." 

"Avon," Blake said firmly, "Enough."

Avon finally turned to face Blake directly. "Yes. I think that about says it all. Excuse me, I'm sure there's something or other that needs repair." And he left the flight deck. If he hadn't been so angry at Blake, he would have been embarrassed at the emotional display in front of the others. As it was, it worked out nicely. Jenna would never admit to taking anyone's leavings, so Blake was cut off from Avon's only other rival.

***

"Avon."

"Yes, Blake?" Avon turned, and smiled. Blake was coldly furious, which always made him sexy as hell, but Avon clamped down on his reactions.

"What was that show all about?"

"Cally asked that I not be 'too hard' on you." Avon's smile grew. "I decided to take it literally. I won't be hard on you. And you most certainly will not be hard on, or in, me."

Blake laughed. "Avon, that's bloody childish."

"Is it? Well, that's your opinion. You don't need my opinion. You don't need my advice. You don't need my detector shield."

"I need _you_." Blake said, taking that one step too close into Avon's personal space. 

Avon closed his arms over his chest. "And that won't work either."

Blake stopped and rubbed his lips with his thumb, another move that always drove Avon wild. "All right, then. Your decision, Avon. It always was."

***

Two weeks later, Avon was trying on a red leather outfit in the wardrobe room when Vila came in behind him. "How's it going?"

"How is what going?" Avon said. He was a bit out of breath, trying to do up the zip on the trousers without removing the stiff, tight jacket.

"The B.B.B. campaign."

Avon gave Vila a quizzical look.

"Blake's Blue Balls," Vila amplified.

"Quite well," Avon replied.

"Oh? I hadn't noticed him knocking down your door."

"He is more stubborn than I'd thought," Avon admitted. He succeeded in his struggle with the recalcitant zipper, and turned to face Vila. "Well?" he asked, holding his arms out to display his latest Blake-trap. "And without the jacket." He removed it with difficulty, rumpling his hair in the process. The trousers were wonderfully supportive to Avon's, erm, cause.

Vila examined Avon clinically. "It's not going to work. Blake's got a perfectly good right hand, you know. You get him all worked up on the flight deck, and he takes care of himself in his own cabin."

Avon frowned. "Yes. That was an unforeseen aspect. Well, what would _you_ suggest?" Avon said, more in the nature of a rebuke than a genuine request for information.

Vila understood, but chose to take the more flattering view. "You're never going to win a battle of wills with Blake. That's his strong suit. But if you were to get him off-balance, make him remember that he really likes you, then he might do whatever it is you want, out of generosity."

"Why? He wouldn't cooperate when we were on the best of terms."

"Of course not. You didn't _need_ him."

"That's right," Avon said automatically. "I don't."

***

Avon was not the most agile man in the universe, but he'd been practicing ducking gunfire for nearly a year now, and was fairly well-versed with that chapter of the rebel's primer. So when Travis fired, Avon ducked and slapped a packet of fake blood over his arm.

He hadn't counted on Blake being so stubborn as to stay with him. Travis nearly got them both.

And Blake just _had_ to kiss his cousin Inga goodbye, adding to Avon's annoyance.

***

"I'm quite all right," Avon said, pulling away from Blake. "Get to the flight deck."

"If you're sure?" Blake asked. "I could send Cally down with you."

Avon considered an artful stumble, but decided it was too risky. "Yes. Nothing serious. I can handle it on my own." He walked to the medical unit, clutching his arm and very carefully _not_ looking back to Blake.

"I'll go with him," Vila volunteered. "I need something, too."

"Yes, like a brain," Avon said, as nastily as possible, but it didn't stop Vila from accompanying him.

***

"Try a sedative, why don't you?" Avon advised. "Get a good rest, and you'll be all right."

Vila's eyes narrowed. "You're being nice to me. What's up?"

Avon scowled, and took his hand off the jumpsuit sleeve. He took off the vest and pulled open the top of the jumpsuit, dragging the sleeve off his arm. "If you say _one_ word to Blake..." he said, leaving the rest of the threat to Vila's active imagination.

"You're not shot."

"No. I'm not." Avon clipped a ragged hole in the sleeve of the jumpsuit, and artistically singed the edges and then he redressed and smeared more 'blood' over his arm.

"Oooh. I see. So, did you let Blake rescue you? And did it work?"

Avon frowned again. "Yes. And I don't know. Yet. If anyone asks for me, I'll be in my quarters."

" _Anyone?_ "

"Vila."

"All right, Avon. If _anybody_ asks."

***

"Avon?"

 _At last._ "Yes, Blake?" Avon said briskly into the announcer.

"Let me in."

Well, Blake didn't sound chastened, but neither did he sound annoyed. On the whole, it seemed positive, so Avon released the door, and Blake strode in, filling the room with his presence even before he spoke. "You're all right."

"As you can see." Avon waved a negligent hand in a manner calculated to draw attention to the bloody jumpsuit 'carelessly' flung over his chair and, not entirely incidentally, reveal that he wasn't wearing anything under his black silk robe.

"I'm glad. I've missed you." Blake came closer. "I was thinking. It really wouldn't take too much time to find a neutral supply depot."

"No. Not too much time." Avon smiled as Blake began loosening his own tunic.

"In fact, I've already asked Jenna to set a course for the nearest one." The tunic was off, and the shirt was being pulled out of Blake's trousers.

"How near?" Avon asked, watching avidly as Blake's belt-buckle opened.

"About eighteen hours at our current speed."

"That should be just about enough time."

***

"Avon."

"Mmm."

"Avon."

"What?" Avon protested as the warm chest he was lying on shifted, dumping him on his back. He slit his eyes open. "What's the hurry? We still have..." He checked the bedside clock. "Fourteen hours."

"I once was an amateur thespian."

"That's all right. I won't tell Vila," Avon mumbled, rolling over to nuzzle against Blake.

"In university. I played Hamlet."

"Um." Avon's lust-fogged brain came up with the reference. "Oh, like a vis-cast, only live. Interesting," he said, while reaching down to see if Blake could be interested in another go 'round.

Blake caught Avon's hands, and held them together, just short of their goal. "Avon. In the play, Hamlet dies, on stage. And in our version at least, we used stage blood. I know what it smells like. Particularly, when it's practically shoved up my nose."

Avon went still, and his heart pounded for a moment, while he woke up and assessed the situation. "Ah."

"Ah? Is that it? Is that all the apology I get for you scaring the daylights out of me? Not to mention endangering both our lives with that silly stunt?"

"Well, I'd assume you'd take it as read. After all, if you _knew_ , then why did you agree to divert to a supply run." Avon sat up and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "That is, unless we _didn't_ divert."

Blake sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, we did. We're on the way. I just decided if it mattered that much to you, I'd do it."

"Oh, well, then, that's all settled. Fourteen hours, did you say?"

"Hmm. Yes, you're right. No time to waste. But Avon," Blake paused and looked down into Avon's eyes. "I owe you one for the stage blood."

"All right. I give you permission to try it on me. But I warn you, it'll have to be a very clever set-up."

"I'll remember that," Blake said in the instant before his mouth was too occupied for further talk.


	2. Payment in Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions can be chancy things.

"Avon." Blake glared at Avon, or perhaps he merely gazed at him with shocked incomprehension. His hands dug into Avon's arms with a bone-numbing grip. Avon stared back. Suddenly Blake was enormously heavy and dragged out of his arms by gravity.

Blake lay on his back. Everything was hazy and unimportant, with a single clear center to Avon's vison and his thought. And that center was Blake.

"Avon!" Tarrant. Sounding desperate. Tarrant never sounded desperate. Avon wondered what was wrong. He lifted his head, and the fog cleared enough to let him remember what had been happening all around him. His crew... _his_ people... they were all down. Still. No longer arguing with him. No longer annoying him with their own opinions and demands to be respected, not just used for his purposes. Lying there still. As still as Blake.

Blake's eyes weren't laughing now. Hadn't been. Even before...before Avon shot him down. There was so much blood. Even spatters across Blake's face. Some of them round like love-bites... Avon's stomach clenched as he remembered deliberately laying a trail of hard, sucking bites along that strong pillar of a neck, and laughing later when Blake appeared on the flight deck in an open-neck shirt, flaunting the marks.

So this was what love brought you to. Killing Anna had been bad. Bad but bearable if he just didn't think about it. But Blake...Blake _hadn't_ betrayed him. But he was just as dead.

There were troopers all around. They mustn't touch Blake. Carefully, Avon moved to stand over his lover. They weren't shooting. Why? Did they think Avon would surrender? Avon's mind grappled with the concept of survival, and found it incredibly repugnant. Blake was dead here. Avon would not leave him. The weapon should have several shots left. Enough to convince them to finish him. He was dead already. The best part of him lay on the floor between his boots, bloody and shattered. He might as well make it official. He lifted his gun, and his lips pulled back in a grin of defiance. He would have fit companions for his death. He would drag at least a few of Blake's enemies down into the pit with himself.

He started shooting, and the troopers fired back. Strange. He felt nothing. Nothing but cold, hard and frozen inside. The gun went silent, the trigger clicking uselessly, and still he was on his feet and so were the troopers. He hadn't hit _one_. He shifted his stance and switched his grip on the weapon, prepared to use it as a club.

"OW! Bloody Hell, Avon!"

No. Avon was many things, but he was not insane. Blake was dead, and the dead don't speak. 

"Get off!"

The troopers... Avon shouldn't look away from them. But, Blake... Blake _moved_. His hand grabbed at Avon's leg, and pulled, hard, making Avon stagger off-balance. He swung the gun wildly, in sudden horror at the thing that clutched at him.

The troopers moved then, snatching the gun from Avon's grasp and pulling his arms behind his back, despite his frantic struggle.

And Blake got up. He was grinning and dabbing at the blood on his face with a filthy handkerchief. He shook his right hand. "You nearly mashed my fingers. Haven't gotten any more graceful, I see."

Avon's mouth was open and his throat too dry to speak.

Blake glanced away from Avon. "All right, show's over!"

And people started getting up. Avon's crew, Blake's people, dead troopers. They all rose, laughing and patting the dust off their clothes. And they came close.

Avon tore free of the men holding him, and he ran, blindly. There were shouts, and the sounds of pursuit as the dead men came after him.

***

"Vila!" Blake shouted as Avon was dragged back before him, trembling and white-faced, flinching mutely away from Blake's hand. "What's wrong with him?" He looked at Deva. "Get a medic."

Vila shrugged, but the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes gave him away. "He's crazy. He was heading that way even before Cally died."

"You knew that?!" Blake looked at each of Avon's crew in turn. "And you helped me set up the joke, knowing what it would do to him?"

This time Tarrant spoke. "He let Zeeona die. He knew what would happen to _her_. And he knew I loved her." Tarrant's face was grim.

Dayna said. "He wouldn't let me kill Servalan. She killed my father and he wouldn't let me kill her." Dayna nodded. "So he had to pay."

"And you?" Blake asked Soolin. "You were in on it, too?"

Soolin said, "I'm a gunfighter, but he was death. Everyone he touched died. I didn't want to be one of them."

Avon had been sedated and lowered to the floor, still twitching and shivering. Blake knelt beside him, brushed the wayward hair back from Avon's icy forehead, and said, without looking back at Avon's crew. "Why didn't you just leave him then?"

"Because he would have killed us," Vila remarked quite calmly. "He already had a go at me. I wasn't giving him a second one."

"Come on," Tarrant said to the others. "I landed Scorpio about five kilometers away. I want to get there before it gets dark."

"Don't come back," Blake said coldly. "The only reason I'm letting you go is that you are valuable to the rebellion."

Tarrant said, "You should be grateful to me, actually. Vila wanted Avon dead." He jerked his head toward the exit. "We'll go now."

***

"Avon. Avon, wake up."

Avon turned away from the sound of Blake's voice. He was lying stretched out on something soft, but firm. He opened his eyes, and saw only a blank wall before him. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them. "Go away, you're dead."

"No, I'm not. It was a joke, Avon. That's all it was." Blake's voice sounded hoarse, almost unrecognizable. Almost. Avon shivered.

"You're cold." Blake... no, it wasn't Blake. The thing with Blake's voice came closer and touched him on the shoulder.

Avon tried to press himself through the unyielding wall he faced. The Blake-thing sat next to him, and the surface dipped, rolling Avon back towards it. His eyes flew open and he stared up into Blake's face, seeing the same dirty, scarred creature that he'd killed in the tracking gallery. His trembling increased.

"I'm not going to hurt you," 'Blake' said, in a voice very like the one Blake always used to convince Avon that black was white.

"Don't," Avon cried as the big hand slowly moved towards his face.

'Blake' sighed, and pulled his hand back. "Watch." He reached up to his eye, and peeled away the scar, scrubbing at bits of glue as it came away. "It wasn't real." 

"I'm not mad!" Avon said, his teeth chattering before he clamped his mouth shut again.

"No, of course not," 'Blake' said, soothingly. "Everything happened the way you remember it, but it was all an act. Your _crew_ helped me."

"They're dead, too."

"No. My men fired stun-shots. My men were the troopers. My men were the bounty hunters, including the one whose weapon you used. Vila had switched all your ammunition for blanks and my men all carried rigged weapons. No one was shot. No one was hurt."

"No." Avon shook his head, but he couldn't look away from 'Blake'. Even if this was Blake come back from the dead. Even if this was merely an hallucination in the last seconds of Avon's life. Denial was foolish and sentimental, but Avon couldn't blame his subconscious for erecting this elaborate subterfuge. At least it gave him this 'Blake', looking down at him with concern instead of hatred, or worse, that pathetic disbelief of Avon's betrayal.

"I wasn't shot." Blake took off his filthy vest and the blood-spattered once-white shirt beneath. He peeled off the burst remnants of a packet that had been taped to his belly and held it up. "Sound-activated detonation. It's stage blood. You remember? You tried to fool me with it." Blake's voice wavered. "Damn it, Avon! Are you listening?"

"No." Avon tried to think logically. He dimly remembered the trick he'd pulled on Blake so very long ago, when he could still laugh without people looking sick. "Tarrant... you say Tarrant allowed _Scorpio_ to be shot down? Never," Avon shook his head. "He would never do that."

"He didn't. The blockade fired low-energy bursts that didn't even scorch your ship's hull, but Tarrant had rigged the ship and the ship's computer to react as if it was hit. We had a mock-up of the crashed ship built in case you went there, looking for him. I scripted it, like a play, with props, and sets, and everyone primed to lead you to me."

Avon closed his eyes, trying to remember. It had _seemed_ real. Right down to Tarrant's noble sacrifice to hold Scorpio on course while Avon escaped. But one thing nagged at him. Tarrant had rigged a set of retaining straps for Orac on the flight deck- as if... as if he _knew_ they'd be fired on. But was Avon's memory accurate? Or was he putting that in now, in hind-sight to agree with Blake's story? "I don't believe you." His eyes flew open and he stared at 'Blake.'

"Avon." 

_"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!"_ Avon shouted and struck out wildly at the phantasm, which grunted and felt very real as Avon hit him in the gut, fist slipping across the still wet and gelatinous red stuff that smeared along Blake's ribcage. Large arms came up and engulfed him, holding him still, pressed tight against 'Blake', forced to listen to the false throbbing of the heart of a dead man. "No, please," Avon begged, although he didn't know what he was asking for, or who he hoped would help him.

"Hold him steady."

Another man's voice. At least that one wasn't familiar. Hands pulled at his clothing, and there was the chill bite of a needle into his exposed flesh. Whatever the drug was, Avon felt his muscles relaxing, and his panic receding, while he remained alert. He lay passively against Blake. "You're dead," he muttered into the warm flesh that pressed against his face. Warm hands rubbed his back, but Avon couldn't stop shivering.

"Get out," Blake said, but his head was turned, so he was probably speaking to the man with the needle.

"Are you sure? He could be dangerous."

"Yes. I'm sure."

There was the sound of footsteps fading away, and then a door closed with a pneumatic hiss. Blake's hands moved over Avon's body, caressing. "I'm alive, Avon. Let me prove it to you." Avon felt himself tilting backwards, falling endlessly into the pit and he struggled frantically to stay upright. "It's all right, all right, Avon, love."

"Falling," Avon explained, quite clearly, he thought. "Nothing to hold onto... where's Vila?" he asked, in sudden bewilderment.

"It's all right, I'm here."

Avon twisted away, barely managing to brace himself against the wall. Everything was happening too quickly, and nothing made sense. "No." He tried to focus his eyes more clearly, but all he could see were gray walls and 'Blake'. Blake who was bare to the waist and bloody but unmarked. Blake who moved to follow Avon, trapping him against the wall. Blake put his mouth over Avon's and there was nothing to do but to open to it.

"I'm alive," Blake pulled back to say. He searched Avon's face. "Let me prove it."

Avon didn't reply at first. He couldn't. But he couldn't fight either. "Do whatever you want," he finally said softly. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does." Blake took Avon's face between his hands. "We're here, together. Safe."

Avon shook his head, feeling the hands move with him. "There is no safety. There is no place to hide from the Federation, no possible method of defeating them."

Blake stroked the back of Avon's neck. "If you really believed that, then why did you come to me?"

"I don't know." 

"I do. You came to me because you love me. As I love you. Let me prove it," Blake repeated, and Avon allowed himself to be lowered to the bed. His vest and boots had been gone when he awoke. It didn't take Blake very long to remove the rest of his clothes. "You've some new scars," Blake commented after a long look at Avon's naked body.

"I don't duck quickly enough these days," Avon said. He meant it seriously, but Blake smiled.

"We'll have to get you back in shape then. Remember how we used to 'exercise' after a hard mission?"

"I remember." Avon watched, expressionlessly, as Blake took off his own clothes. Blake was not quite fully erect, but more than half-way there, Avon judged from past experience.

Blake balled up his shirt and rubbed at the red blotches across his belly, revealing smooth, unmarked skin. "You see?"

"I see," Avon replied dully.

Blake sighed. "You really are a stubborn bugger, aren't you?" He touched Avon's cock, which lay limp and uninterested. "I'd missed that, too. I was sorry you didn't do it more often. Would you like to do it now?" He bent down to kiss and lick along the length of Avon's cock, which didn't even twitch. 

"No." Avon felt numb, particularly below the waist. He reached down to touch Blake's hair. "No, the usual way."

"Avon?" Blake pulled back. "If you don't want to, we can wait."

"No. Do it." Avon rolled over onto his belly, drawing his elbows in close so that he would not have to look at anything except the plain white sheets. They smelled like Blake. Avon shivered again. "I'm cold."

"Then I'll warm you." Blake moved astride Avon, keeping his weight on his hands and knees. "But you have to want me."

"I do," Avon said, flatly. "If you require more of a response than that, you'll have to wait until the drug wears off. I don't want to wait. I am cold."

Blake paused, one hand idly rubbing in circles in the small of Avon's back. "All right, sweetheart."

Through the crook of his elbow Avon saw Blake reach past him to a bedside drawer, and extract a small jar. "I'll go slow," Blake promised.

"Don't." Avon rolled his head so that one eye, bleak and utterly dark, could meet Blake's gaze. 

"All right. However you want it, Avon."

Avon turned back to the sheet and braced himself. Blake dug his thumbs into Avon's thighs, massaging for a moment, before they moved up and traced the cleft of Avon's buttocks. Avon took a deep breath, and held it as blunt fingers, well-greased, probed at his hole. He had thought it would be difficult, but his muscles remembered and readily allowed the intrusion. True to his word, Blake wasted no time in preparation. "Are you ready?" Blake asked.

"Just do it."

And Blake did. Avon felt Blake's big cock push its way in, and it seemed to him it felt the way it always did. The half-pained, half-ecstatic sounds Blake made as he pumped into Avon were achingly familiar. The hands holding him in place alternated stroking and clutching in rhythm with the desperate lunges up his arse, just as they had with Blake. And when Blake froze and shouted Avon's name, Avon could almost hear the way that voice had reverberated off the walls of the Liberator. It was very convincing.

Blake rolled off of Avon and fell asleep, one arm lying heavy and warm over Avon's shoulder, in just the same possessive/ protective manner that had irritated Avon almost as much as it had pleased him.

Avon got up silently and looked down at the man in the bed. _Blake is dead._ Avon located his trousers and boots and put them on, slowly. He was sore from the unaccustomed activity, and he didn't want to make any sound to chance awakening the false Blake. If 'Blake' woke, Avon would have to kill him. He probably _should_ kill him, to forestall whatever plans lay behind this deception, but he was too tired. Too tired to speculate why they, whoever they were, wanted him to think this was Blake. Blake was dead. Avon was dead, too, for all practical purposes. It was actually a rather freeing notion.

Avon slipped on his plain black shirt, but left the tunic and over-vest lying on the floor. Somehow, Blake's blood had got on them.

He left the bedroom through a doorless opening into what must be Blake's living area. There was a large table with several heavy chairs, a desk with a computer console, clothing storage units and shelves with assorted tools and bric-a-brac. A few primitive-looking rugs were scattered across the floor and there were other evidences the occupant had attempted to make it homely. Avon hesitated by the door. He couldn't hear anything through it, but was that because the room was sound-proofed, or because there was no one outside? He glanced back at 'Blake' who might wake at any moment. He couldn't wait. He found the control for the light and dimmed it, then palmed the door switch. It quietly hissed open and he darted out, hands raised to attack. 

He found himself in a long, narrow, dimly-lit corridor, lined on either side with doors like Blake's. The corridor was empty. He chose a direction at random and began walking briskly. He never had been lucky, so he was mildly surprised when he eventually found himself peering into a small hangar that opened directly onto a night-black forest. The few people he saw seemed far less than alert. Still, they were watching the fliers. He would have to... his hand pawed at his side, coming up empty. Startled, he looked down. He was unarmed. Now that was stupid. Why hadn't he looked for a weapon? He couldn't very well take on all of them bare-handed. Even fighting dirty wouldn't be enough.

All right, fine, no flier then. Just get out of here. Orac was in the woods. Get to the computer, and ask...what was he going to ask? The fastest way off this planet would be his first topic.

There were many shadows, and he was dressed entirely in black. It shouldn't be too difficult to creep out of the hangar unseen. He was a dozen meters from the exit when an alarm sounded, shrill and piercing, accompanied by blazing red lights. Avon froze, visualizing Blake dead in his arms again. By the time he could move it was too late. He was knocked to the floor and rolled onto his stomach, his arms held tightly behind him, with a heavy weight pressing into the small of his back. There were hands all over, gripping bone-numbing tight. People were shouting. He could see several sets of boots, all running toward him.

***

"Blake!"

Blake's eyes snapped open and he slapped at the comm-unit. "What is it, Deva?" he asked, recognizing the voice even before he saw the face in the monitor. He sat up and reached for his clothes.

"Your Avon."

"Avon?" Blake suddenly realized he was alone. "Where is he? Is he all right?" Blake snatched up his trousers and yanked them on, then stood, looking at Deva.

"Main hangar. No, I don't think he's all right."

"No," Blake said, horrified.

"He's not hurt," Deva added. He pushed his hair back out of his eyes, and gave Blake a disgruntled look. "Just scared the night-watch half to death by trying to sneak out of the base. Come down and collect him."

***

He knew it was bad for morale for him to be racing barefoot and half-naked through the corridors, but Blake dismissed the automatic rebel-leader thought. The hell with what it looked like. He skidded onto the hangar's slightly greasy floor, caught his balance and slowed down. There was a knot of people not far from the outer entrance, looking down at something in their midst. 

Blake pushed them aside with scant courtesy. "Avon. What were you trying to do?"

Face down against gritty plast-crete, Avon coughed. Blake ordered, "Let him up." He was angry, and he didn't try to hide it. "What were you thinking?" he asked, as Avon slowly curled himself up into a sitting position, holding his right hand tucked in tight against his chest.

"I was under the impression I was escaping," Avon said wearily, blinking. The alarm had been turned off, and the hangar lights brought up to full. The brightness made his eyes water and he rubbed his face against his sleeve.

"Escaping what? Me?" Blake stared down at Avon.

Avon wouldn't meet Blake's eyes. "Not you. You're not real. I was escaping from myself. Only he's dead, too, so I suppose there really wasn't any point to it." 

"Avon." Blake shook his head. He leaned down and grabbed Avon by the elbow. "Come on, let's get you to the medical unit and see what you've done to your hand."

"Get his head checked out, too," one of the rebels muttered.

"I'm not insane," Avon said as Blake pulled him to his feet. "You're dead."

"Will you stop saying that?" Blake held Avon for a moment, then pushed him slightly away, and asked, "Can you walk?"

"Yes." Avon took two steps, and then stumbled, going down to one knee. Blake reached down, hands outstretched to catch Avon by the forearms. Avon looked down at Blake's hands, shouted "NO!" and pulled back so violently that fell backwards, cracked his skull on the floor, and went limp.

"Get a medic! No, don't touch him!" Blake knelt at Avon's side. Unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his chest, Avon looked...well, he looked bad. Worse than vulnerable. He looked defeated, care lines etched in his face, dark patches around his eyes, and cheeks hollowed. "Damn it, Avon."

***

"Lie still."

His head throbbed dully, and his right hand twinged when he tried to move the last two fingers, which were apparently splinted together. The room smelled of antiseptics and strong cleansers. The sheet lying over him was crisp and cold. There were voices talking quietly and machines humming. A med-unit. And one with Blake sitting at his bedside. Avon thought about obeying Blake, gave it serious consideration for a full second, then began sitting up. Blake leaned over him, hands on his shoulders, pressing down. "Lie still. You've got concussion. If you get up, you'll be sick."

Even the attempt to rise had nauseated Avon, so he reluctantly surrendered. Blake waited a moment, then released him, and straightened. "I thought we had it all settled."

Avon looked at Blake coolly."You can't fuck me into following you again."

"Again?" Blake pounced on the implications of the word. "So, you do believe I'm me."

Avon's mouth twisted. "Perhaps."

"And that I'm not dead?"

"Not yet." Avon couldn't explain his irrational behavior of the day before. Or _was_ it the day before... no matter. He was thinking clearly now. Of course, he'd _thought_ he was thinking clearly _then_ despite his wild fantasies about walking dead men...no, let's don't get into that.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Avon touched the back of his head gingerly. It was wrapped in a padded bandage which made it nearly as huge as it felt from the inside. "Obviously, I hit my head."

"I meant before."

"You screwed me over." Avon shut his eyes. "As always."

"Avon."

Avon opened his eyes and slanted a look Blake's way. "You and my crew conspired to present me with an illustrated lecture on the dangers of trust. Thank you. If the show is over may I go now?"

"No." Blake reached out and picked up Avon's left hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. "Later, after you've recovered, _fully_ recovered, you can go if you still want. You do know your ship is gone."

"Ah." Avon stared blankly ahead. That put a different complexion on matters. Somehow he'd imagined he would walk onto Scorpio's deck and be accepted as its master again after a suitable show of dominance over the crew. They had worked well together, despite the circumstances and he was willing to overlook their high annoyance factor in return for their equally high skills. Apparently, they hadn't reciprocated his reasoning. Idly he wondered whether his chances of survival were improved or worsened by losing the ship, and the crew. Scorpio _had_ become a well-known target. He began mentally moving probability squares as he considered the question.

"What will you do?"

"I don't know. I'm tired. Would you mind...?" Avon waved vaguely in the direction of the door.

"Yes, I do mind. I'm not leaving you until I get some answers."

"You may ask whatever you like. Answers, however, are in short supply."

"Just answer this one, then. Do you believe that I love you?"

"I should do. You've said it often enough."

"Avon. Don't evade."

"I believe that you enjoy sex with me. I believe that you are of an affectionate nature, and therefore confuse that pleasure with 'love'. I believe that I was once highly useful to you, not only from a technical standpoint, but as a barrier against a certain importunate female pilot of our mutual acquaintance. I believe that lingering gratitude for that usefulness, combined with my potential future usefulness, has placed a rosy glow around the memories of our relationship. In short, I believe that _you_ believe you love me."

Blake shook his head. "You've become even more contrary. I wouldn't have thought it possible. What would convince you?"

"Nothing. And it isn't necessary. I _do_ believe you when you say that my ship is gone. Therefore, remaining at your base is currently my best option. Until such time as I am able to devise a viable option, I am not adverse to bartering my skills for shelter."

Blake rose. "I won't argue with you. You're hurt and you're still not thinking clearly. Rest. I'll be back to see you later."

Avon shut his eyes and listened as Blake walked away.

***

Deva was shouting again. Blake was trying to decide whether he should intervene, when a good-sized monitor came flying over the console, just missing Blake, to hit the wall in a spectacular shower of glittering sparks. Blake disconnected the power cord and went around the console, shaking bits out of his hair.

Avon actually looked ashamed of himself for an instant, before that cold, hard shell locked around him again.

"Deva, see if anything else was damaged, will you?" Blake asked, while keeping Avon's eyes caught with his own. "Avon and I are going to have a little talk."

Deva swallowed hard and looked from Avon to Blake and back again. "It doesn't matter. The X22 was obsolete. I was going to disconnect it from the system and discard it."

Blake ignored Deva's attempt at peacemaking. "Avon. Come." Blake turned and walked away, furious with himself for allowing Avon to continue to act like a spoiled child, just because he was afraid Avon would leave. The last two months had become an escalating series of petty squabbles, sulks, and tantrums. Blake didn't need to look behind to know that Avon was two paces behind him, and slightly to one side. He had always been able to feel Avon's presence.

They reached Blake's quarters and went in. During the walk, Blake's anger had cooled to a melancholy regret. Confronting Avon wouldn't help matters. He went over to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Gauda Prime's best example of the vintner's art. "Sit." He waved towards a large table surrounded by chairs. He poured two glasses and took them to the table, carrying the bottle in the crook of his elbow. He put it all down on the table, and then turned one chair around and sat. "Sit," he repeated.

Avon came around the table to face Blake. "Why?"

"Just sit and have a drink with me, Avon."

Avon hesitated, then pulled up a chair and sat. He accepted the glass of wine, sipped, and made a face, putting the glass back down with exaggerated care. "Not even Vila would..."

Blake nodded. "Not even Vila would drink it. Not if he had a choice. But I don't. Neither of us do, not really. You can't go, and you can't seem to make your mind up to stay and be part of my group. Why is that, hm?" He rested his elbows on the table.

"My perverse nature, no doubt." Avon picked up his glass and drank the wine, slowly but without pausing. He looked at the empty glass, twirling it between his fingers. "For example, I'm tempted to throw this glass across the room, but I refuse to grant myself the pleasure." He placed it back on the table. "There. I have restrained myself from yet another petty act of destruction. Aren't you proud of me?"

"Actually, I am, Avon." Blake poured more wine into Avon's glass. "In a backhanded sort of way. Your stubbornness is almost a match for mine."

"Almost?" 

"I'm not giving up on you. Being foul-tempered to my people is beneath you, though. I'm the one you're angry with."

Avon drank the second glass of wine. "No. I don't think I am. I was at first, but not because of that farce in the tracking gallery."

 _In vino veritas?_ Blake considered that getting Avon drunk might be taking unfair advantage. Then again, he'd take any advantage he could get. Besides, Avon couldn't be drunk on two glasses of wine. "Then why?"

"I'd like another glass of wine."

"That's a crude evasion tactic."

"Is it? Would you prefer something more subtle?"

Blake poured more wine into Avon's glass. "No. If you can't answer, you can't."

"Oh, I could, but would you really want to know?"

"Yes."

Avon gulped the wine. "I was angry at you because it was easier than being angry at myself. I was stupid enough to trust and for that stupidity I deserved to be betrayed, but until I could accept that, I blamed you. I've never taken treachery well."

"It was a _joke_!"

"Not to me. You were dead and I'd killed you. Did you imagine I would laugh that off?"

"You would have once. You nearly killed me in that mine on Horizon."

Avon flinched. "And I spent the rest of that evening being violently ill at the thought." Avon's mouth twisted. "You made me care, and then you took it away. Is it any wonder I was half-mad when I came here, too blinded by emotion to see through your puerile prank?"

"I didn't know, how could I?!" Blake protested."All you'd ever admit to was enjoying the sex, not a word about caring for me, personally."

"I thought you understood. I've never been able to ..." Avon glanced at Blake, then stared back at his wine glass. "I can't express my feelings in words, but that doesn't make them any the less valid."

Blake sat back and stared at Avon, his mouth open in astonishment. "Bloody Hell. Are you saying that you love me?"

"No." Avon paused, then added, "But I'm not disagreeing if you say it."

Blake rubbed his chin. "Kerr Avon loves Roj Blake?"

Avon blinked. "Implausible, but true." He reached for the wine bottle, but Blake's hand was there first.

"No. I do not want you to wake up tomorrow claiming you were too drunk to make a commitment."

"I haven't made any commitment." Avon gave Blake a small smile, just the slightest curve to his lips. "It doesn't seem practical, given that neither of us recognize any government's authority even in as small a matter as formalizing relationships. But if I could, I would."

Now Blake's lips curved. "Are you proposing marriage?"

"It does seem ridiculous, doesn't it? We hardly need worry about providing a stable family life for our offspring."

Blake reached across the table and took Avon's left hand. "Wait." He reached into his jacket pocket with his other hand, and grubbed around, coming up with a handful of assorted mechanical parts. He dumped them on the table and stirred the pile.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"Just a moment." Blake picked up a circle of gold-colored metal. "With this ring, I thee wed," he said, and put the ring on Avon's third finger.

" _That_ is a non-conducting spacer for a hyper-static thermal pump." Avon said, staring down at their clasped hands and the dully gleaming band.

"I'll have it gold-plated later."

Avon shook his head. "No, this won't do." He pulled his hand back.

Blake said, "Avon..." but went silent as Avon began checking his own pockets. 

"I'm afraid I can't make an equivalent reciprocation. You'll never get this to fit on your finger." Avon took Blake's hand, and turned it palm up, then deposited Orac's actuator into the hollow of Blake's hand. He folded Blake's fingers around it. "With all my worldly possessions, I thee endow."

Blake's grin blossomed. "Orac! I thought you'd lost it."

"No, I hid it in the woods. I didn't quite trust my crew enough to let them see where, so it's still there. I _will_ get a ring for you, though. And you must understand one thing, Blake. I am not going to be part of your group. This is a private understanding, nothing to do with your Cause."

"So I can forget about the 'obey' part of the ritual?"

"On the contrary, you can obey me. Starting now. Take off all your clothes, and lie down on the bed."

Blake put Orac's 'key' in his pocket and stood up. "First the kiss."

"Oh, all right." Avon leaned across the table, shut his eyes, and opened his mouth, twisting his head to get just the right angle.

Blake met him more than halfway, lips hot and moist against Avon's, arms reaching to drag Avon toward him, stopped only by the table between them. Blake grunted as he came into contact with the heavy table. He broke the kiss to say, regretfully, "The bed is in the other room."

"Too far," Avon agreed. After two months of tantalizingly close proximity, that one kiss had come near to undoing him. "How well-built is this table?"

"I built it," Blake said, taking off his heavy boots and stripping his trousers off. He didn't bother with the shirt. "As a conference table, with short-tempered rebels in mind." Blake grinned. "I didn't want anyone kicking it over to make their point."

"Ah." Avon rapped his knuckles against the tabletop. "I should hate to be interrupted in mid-conference by your political platform collapsing." He turned his back to Blake and sat on the table, pulling off his boots and letting his feet dangle. "It seems capable of holding my weight," he admitted. "But a true stress test calls for a heavier object."

Blake came around the table to face Avon. "We need to press it to its limits," Blake murmured in Avon's ear before he bent down to open Avon's trousers, slipping his hands into the waistband to ease them down as Avon rose to his knees. He began teasing Avon's cock with his tongue. "Always liked your taste."

Avon smiled down at the top of Blake's head. "And here I always thought you had poor taste. Perhaps I'd better revise my opinion. Ah!" he gasped as Blake sucked hard, greedily swallowing Avon down his throat. "Stop! Unless you want it over before it's properly begun."

"No. I want it all, that's what I'm after." Blake stood up and stepped back, heading for one of the storage units. "I'm out of practice," Blake warned as he handed Avon a small container. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the table before bending over and resting his elbows on the table. It wasn't the ideal height, but close enough.

"How far out of practice?" Avon asked as he opened the container and approved the greasy texture and faint but pleasant, floral scent of the contents. 

"You know as well as I do."

"Ah. So you were saving yourself for me? Should I be flattered?" While he was talking, Avon was introducing his fingers to Blake's warm and silken interior. It did feel tight, and his cock twitched as he thought how it would feel to be inside Roj Blake once again.

"Yes," Blake said softly, twisting to back over his shoulder at Avon. "You spoiled me for anyone else. Now, would you kindly fuck me?"

"Still giving orders, I see," Avon mock-complained. He stroked down Blake's sides with lube-slippery fingers, parting Blake's cheeks and pressing his penis slowly inward. At least, he started out with the intention of going slow, but found himself half-sheathed on the first thrust. He stopped, panting, and held still, then pulled back almost free. Almost free of Blake? He laughed at the thought.

Blake groaned, his fingers clutching into his discarded shirt."More!"

"You're out of practice, remember?" Avon gritted his teeth, and schooled himself to patience. He leaned forward as he thrust, resting his weight against Blake's broad back. He looked down at the sheen of sweat on those powerful shoulders and was tempted to bite. He gave in to it, and didn't _quite_ break the skin.

Blake yelped and jerked, which felt absolutely lovely to Avon's buried cock. "What was that for?" he asked.

"In case," Avon replied, shortly, getting into the rhythm of it, pushing in and pulling out, changing angles until Blake gave a strangled cry and a wriggle of appreciation that told Avon he was on the right track. He bit again, not quite as hard as before. "In case you should ever think-- of straying-- again. I've put-- my mark on you." It was getting difficult to acquire enough breath for talking as well as fucking, but Avon had a reputation to maintain.

"Ahhh. I'm yours, Avon," Blake groaned. He was breathing nearly as heavily as Avon. His hands moved back towards his groin, but Avon forestalled him, getting a firm grip on Blake's hot, damp penis with both hands.

"Tell me," Avon said, gasping. Sweat was running down into his eyes, and he tossed his head to clear it away. " _TELL_ me."

"Love you, Avon. I love you," Blake said, and the depth of feeling and honesty in those gasped, gutteral words went straight to Avon's heart. It felt as if someone had pierced him with a knife.

Avon cried out and came, helplessly convulsing atop Blake, desperately squeezing with his hands so that Blake, for once, followed Avon. Avon wasn't exactly sure what he had said, beyond Blake's first name. That 'Roj' had forced its way out of his mouth as an involuntary reflex, that he could no more control than the beating of his heart.

Some time later, Avon began to notice that he was cold and pasted to Blake's equally chilling body. Also his back hurt. Reluctantly, he gave in to necessity and peeled himself off of Blake. He leaned against the table for a moment, then staggered to the nearest chair and collapsed into it. He shut his eyes, and was about to fall asleep when a hard hand gripped him under the elbow and boosted him to his feet. "No," he protested, but when warm lips silenced him he forgot why he hadn't wanted to move. He opened his eyes. Blake was standing there, grinning like a fool, flushed and sweaty and rather overweight. Absolutely perfect.

"Shower?" 

Avon nodded and winced as the motion transmitted itself down the stiff muscles of his back. To Blake's wordless inquiry, Avon replied, "I'm out of practice as well, it seems."

"Good," Blake said with relief. "I had wondered about Tarrant."

Avon eyed Blake. "Never. Not on my worst day."

"He was very handsome."

"He was annoying, arrogant, audacious... and that's only the 'A's."

Blake nodded. "I thought he might have reminded you of me."

Avon's eyes went wide. "I will not dignify that with an answer. Shower."

***

Blake's shower was much bigger than the corresponding fixture aboard the Liberator had been. It was primitively surfaced in tile, with the water flow controlled by two levers.

"Hot," Blake explained, touching the lever on the left,"and cold", the lever on the right. He fiddled with the controls, while the water ran and Avon waited impatiently.

"A simple computer-controlled rheostat and point-of-use heater would deliver water of the specified temperature on command," Avon pointed out.

"I'll tell Orac." Blake pulled Avon into the shower, and held him close while the water ran warm over them both. He just stood there, saying nothing, with his head pressed against Avon's shoulder.

"You're shivering," Avon realized, and he would have adjusted the water temperature, but Blake was holding him too tightly. Blake's shivers became more regularly spaced, and violent. "Blake? You're not... crying, are you?" Avon asked awkwardly.

"Every morning I'd wake expecting to discover that you'd left in the night. I'm still not sure I believe you'll stay."

Avon brushed his hands over Blake's back. "I never left you. I couldn't. You're the one who left, remember."

Blake looked up at that. His face was wet, but so was Avon's. The shower beat down on them, hiding as it soothed. "We were tearing each other apart. I couldn't stand to see you hurt any more."

Avon sighed. "We're a fine pair. I'll make you a bargain, Blake."

"Roj. Call me Roj."

"Roj," Avon tested the name. "All right. I despise 'Kerr', but perhaps it won't sound as bad if you say it."

"Kerr," Blake said, rolling the name, all velvet and thunder. "Kerr, whatever the bargain is, yes."

"Just that, 'yes'?" Avon tightened his embrace. His voice had gone, and he had to clear his throat several times before he could continue. "Even if I were to ask you to come away with me, to be rich and safe, and leave your rebellion?"

"I'm not indispensible to _them_."

"Ah." Avon thought about it as he and Blake leisurely washed each other, with frequent pauses for kissing. Finally, when they were both not only absolutely clean, but also considerably water-logged, they dried each other and went to Blake's bed.

***

They curled up together, settling into the sleeping position they had compromised on, back on the Liberator; Avon on his left side, and Blake behind him, one arm draped over Avon's waist. Avon laid his hand over Blake's arm. "I'm not going to ask you to leave your rebellion." Blake's arm tensed and then relaxed.

"I know," Blake said. He kissed the back of Avon's' neck. "We'll get Orac in the morning, so we can start our planning."

Avon reached his hand back to pat Blake on the arse. "We'll get Orac in the _afternoon_."

"Strange, I never thought you were a late riser."

"That was a pun worthy of Vila." Avon shook his head. "No, forget I said that."

"Are you worried about him? About your crew?" Blake stroked Avon's chest, slowly, offering comfort.

"Why should I be? They abandoned me."

"We could use Orac to contact them."

"And again, I say 'why'?"

"Well, for one thing, they've got a functional teleport. And an extremely fast ship. We could use them."

Avon rolled over to stare into Blake's face. "That's just an excuse. You always liked Vila," he accused.

"No more than you did," Blake replied. He reached up to touch Avon's face. "I'd like to give you back his friendship."

"I forfeited that, a long time ago," Avon said bleakly. "Along with the loyalty of my crew."

"We'll see. It's been two months. You know what they say: 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'."

"I still think you're being unduly optimistic, but all right, we'll see if Orac can contact Scorpio." Avon was silent for a long moment, his fingers fiddling with the ring Blake had given him. "In the _afternoon_ ," he repeated firmly, before turning back onto his side.

"In the afternoon," Blake confirmed. He snuggled up close to Avon. "You know, I could get to like this."

"Go to sleep- Roj."

Blake smiled. "Yes, dear."

"What?"

"I said, yes, 'Kerr'."

"Sentiment..." Avon started to warn, and then he yawned. "Oh, to hell with it. Good _night_ , Roj."

***

Out in the woods, in the damp Gauda Prime evening, a squirrel-like creature chittered angrily at Orac and dropped a nut into the computer.

 _Get away, you disgusting rodent!_ Orac snapped, and sent a surge of current through the nut, vaporizing it. _For the last time, I am NOT a larder!_

With a final indignant flit of its long tail, the animal jumped out of the hollow tree where Orac was wedged, and ran off to the next tree.

 _AVON!_ Orac wailed in the night.

***

In his sleep, Avon turned over and smiled.


	3. Post-Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I just found a bit more of the Payment story. It seems to end oddly, but I have no idea what I was thinking back in 2001 and can't continue it.)

Vila kicked at the dismantled drive-unit, sending a loosely connected bit flying.

"What are you doing!" Tarrant shouted as the piece clacked against the bulkhead directly over his head, where he'd been kneeling while sorting out usable electronics from a storage bin. He got up and stood toe to toe with Vila.

"This piece of junk ought to be in a museum," Vila shouted back, "I'm tired of working on it all the time."

"If you'd _worked_ on it even once..." Tarrant yelped and jumped,turning to look over his shoulder. "Soolin, what?"

Soolin pulled the muzzle of her gun out of Tarrant's back and holstered it. "One question, Tarrant. Do we have the parts we need?"

Tarrant frowned and looked down at the bin. "No, not really. I suppose something could be cobbled together, but..."

"But," Dayna said wearily, kneeling beside another pile of dismantled electronics, "we got rid of Avon."

"Yes." Tarrant sighed. "I'll say this much for him, he was good at improvising repairs." He shook his head. "Forget it, Vila, we'll just have to teleport down and see what we can find."

"What I can steal, you mean," Vila grumbled. "And you're not as much help with _that_ as Avon was."

"Too honest?"

"Too obvious. I don't know why I stay with you lot."

Dayna got up and said, "Because no one else will have any of us." She patted Vila on the shoulder. "You're looking at all the friends any of us has in the universe."

"Now, that's a depressing thought. I'm going for a bit of rest and relaxation," Vila announced, and trudged out of the cramped engine room. _Scorpio_ was in space, orbiting a fairly neutral, dull planet, so his options were limited. Since they no longer had Orac he couldn't even teleport down unless he could convince one of the others to do it.

"What's left?" Tarrant called after him.

"You don't want to know," Vila's voice drifted back.

Tarrant looked after Vila for a moment, then he said, "Dayna, would you mind..."

"All right. Not that it matters. No matter how drunk he gets, there isn't much harm he can do on the flight deck, anyway. What didn't get destroyed by your friendly mercenaries blew out the last time we ran from the Federation. At this rate, I'll never get Servalan." Dayna followed Vila.

Tarrant sat down on a nearly level part of the engine housing, heedless of the dirt. "I don't understand it. I thought things would be better without Avon. I wasn't expecting sunshine and flowers, but..." 

Soolin nodded. "You thought once we didn't have a madman for a leader, we'd stand a better chance. So did I." She twirled one of her braids idly, then said, "Unfortunately, he was a useful madman, and we're short-handed. We really do need to recruit at least one highly skilled tech who can understand this maze of patches Avon's cobbled together."

"Our choices there are even more limited than Vila's in the booze department." Tarrant was silent for a long moment, while Soolin simply waited. Finally, he said, " _Scorpio_ is still on the rebel's side and her speed and the teleport make her too great an asset for them to abandon us. I can contact..." Tarrant wound down, as he thought of all the rebel planets and bases that had been overrun by the Federation, of all the rebels that were either fled or dead or simply in no position to help.

"Blake." Soolin said it flatly, without emphasis, but Tarrant still winced. "Who else can we locate?"

"We may not even be able to find him. Why should he still be on Gauda Prime?"

"I've no idea. It's just the only place we can try."

"He isn't likely to be too fond of us. Not after what we did to his precious Avon." Tarrant remembered his last sight of Blake, kneeling beside Avon, touching his hair in an obvious lover's caress. At the time, it seemed fitting to have destroyed Avon's chance at love as Avon had destroyed Tarrant's, but it wasn't going to help them now.

"We thought it was our best chance of survival. I'm an expert on that, Tarrant. I can do *anything* to survive. Grovelling before Blake doesn't rate too highly on that scale."

"It's not just my pride at stake. What if Blake agrees to help only on condition we give him command of _Scorpio_?"

Soolin looked around the depressingly drab and dirty engine room. "Take him up on it."

***

Avon tried to sit up, but Blake was lying half across him. "Um. Roj." 

"Um, Kerr." Blake licked at a convenient nipple and was rewarded with a full-body squirm.

"We should get up," Avon remarked, after recovering his composure.

"I am up," Blake replied, rubbing the evidence against Avon's belly.

Avon moaned, then forced himself to stillness. "Look at me."

"I am," Blake said, holding Avon's arms down and nibbling along the tender underside. "I prefer a close-up view."

With difficulty, Avon wriggled around to look into Blake's eyes. They were laughing. "You're having me on."

"At every available opportunity," Blake agreed, and moved up to kiss Avon.

This occupied Avon's attention quite fully for the next few minutes. Blake didn't just kiss. He licked and sucked and caressed, and his hands roamed, and his warm, heavy body convinced Avon of reality. At least for the moment. He still woke up in the middle of most nights, heart pounding, certain that Blake was dead. He always tried not to disturb Blake, but his lover seemed to have developed a sixth sense that told him when Avon needed him.

Avon didn't like it. Being dependent was bad enough, but worse was the fact that Blake was distracted from the serious business of being a rebel. "We need... ah... to talk."

"Later."

"No. Now." Avon pushed hard and Blake released him. Avon sat up and looked away from Blake until his breathing was under control and his pulse had returned to normal. "We can't go on like this."

"Why not?" Blake reached out and Avon turned, with a sigh, allowing Blake to envelop him in those strong, reliable arms.

"Because." Avon paused to take a deep breath. The scent of Blake strengthened him for what he must say. "You aren't paying enough attention to your cause."

Blake laughed. "That's odd, coming from you. I thought you were convinced I was obsessed with it."

Avon nodded. "And so you were, which was just as unhealthy. You ought to put it on a businesslike basis, which you appear unable to do at present, because of me. I'm a burden on you."

"You're no such thing! You and Orac have worked wonders."

"A personal burden." Avon touched two fingers to Blake's lips to halt the inevitable protest. "You worry about me. You take me into consideration before you agree to any plan. You refuse to be separated from me, even for a night."

Blake's arms tightened, then slowly eased their grip. "Are you saying you want out of our... arrangement?"

"NO!" Avon clenched his fists against the horror that filled him at the thought, feeling the reassuring solidity of Blake's ring on his finger. To wake, dreaming that Blake was gone, only to find it reality... He forced his hands open and his voice steady "No. But I want you to think how you would have decided before I came to Gauda Prime, whenever there is a decision to be made. Consider it rationally, don't dismiss an otherwise beneficial offer out of hand simply because it may have the potential for disturbing me."

There was silence for a moment, then Blake said, "You know."

Avon nodded. "You didn't really think you could security-code Orac against me, did you?"

Blake sighed. "I'd hoped you'd trust me and understand it was meant for your own good."

"I do," Avon said simply. "But I have a reciprocal responsibility to protect you, to the admittedly limited best of my ability." Blake hugged Avon again. Somewhere in the discussion, sexual feelings had faded to be replaced by other emotions, more tender in some ways, fiercer in others. "I need to know everything that might possibly injure you. Anything that weakens your rebellion is high on the list. Turning down the offer of an alliance with the _Scorpio_ certainly qualifies."

"I didn't want to see them again."

"Why? It wasn't that long ago that you were arguing that Orac should contact them."

"That was before..."

"Before you decided that I was still fragile?" Avon pulled away from Blake again, abruptly feeling the sheltering arms as suffocating. He got up and began pacing away from Blake and then back, restless, but unable to escape.

"Kerr."

"Before this?" Avon said, turning his left wrist up to expose a barely healed line slanting across the pale skin.

"That was an accident. The tool was slippery." But Blake did not sound entirely confident.

"And the time I overdosed on the pain medication?"

"You'd forgotten you'd already taken it."

"Had I?" Avon turned to meet Blake's eyes. "I am not knowingly suicidal, but three incidents in as many weeks..." He glanced down at his hands.

"Three?" Blake got up and took Avon's arms again, turning them over to examine them. There was a reddened patch on the palm of the right hand. "What happened?"

"This afternoon I was working on the high-voltage regulator for the main computer banks. I thought I was wearing insulated gloves." Avon glanced at the red patch on his hand and his mouth curved in a mockery of a smile. "Fortunately for me, Deva knew what to do. I'm afraid I rather embarrassed him when I awoke to his mouth on mine, and called your name."

"Are you all right?"

"Perfectly. Deva insisted on a full medical scan. I agreed, but in return, he kept silent about my...accident."

Blake considered. "I can't believe you'd fail at _anything_ three times." 

Avon winced, remembering three shots into Blake's gut. "I already did," he said softly. "Perhaps my subconscious wishes to remove the possibility of a repetition."

"KERR! Enough! You're not going to try to shoot me again, and you're _not_ suicidal."

Avon shrugged. "When you look at my actions dispassionately, it does seem to fall into that pattern."

"No, it doesn't." Blake's eyes narrowed. "There is another answer. Someone may be trying to kill you."

"I had considered that possibility, but dismissed it. All your followers are wonderfully loyal, rabid, anti-Federation fanatics who would cheerfully leap into hell on your command. Why would any of them wish to eliminate me? I have, as you noted, been of substantial assistance in augmenting the security and efficiency of this base."

"One might have a personal motive."

"Ah." Avon tilted his head to one side. "There is that. Jealousy, you mean... a former lover?"

"Not in the physical sense, but some are..."

Avon grinned. "A trifle possessive of their leader? Even if that is the case, how can one distinguish between fanatical loyalty and fanatical jealousy? Short of shooting all your rebels and recruiting fresh fanatics, what do you suggest we do?"

Blake rubbed his chin. "The Gauda Prime operation is about to enter the next stage when I'd originally planned for us to leave, in any event. We'll just accelerate our departure." 

"In one of the rebellion's ships, using your people?"

"No." Blake was silent a long moment, then he said, "I'm not certain it's a wise choice, but while the crew of the _Scorpio_ set you up, they didn't actually try to kill you."

"It will be uncomfortable, socially," Avon remarked. "For you, that is."

"And you, of course, will be perfectly comfortable."

"Of course. Perfectly," Avon said tonelessly. 

"Ah, Kerr. Hold me. Just... hold me."

***

"Are you sure this isn't a trick? I mean..." Vila looked around nervously. "Even if Avon's not gone completely around the bend he's obviously got Blake twisted around his little finger, ready to do whatever he asks and you know what Avon's like." 

"No, why don't you tell me," Soolin said, without lifting her head from the control panel before her. 

"But you'd better make it quick," Dayna added from her position at the weapons console.

"Why?"

Tarrant locked the navigation controls, stood up and retrieved a handful of teleport bracelets. "Because we're here, and I'm going down to get them."

"Here? Already?" Vila turned to see the bulk of a planet filling _Scorpio's_ viewscreen.

"Slave, report any hostile craft immediately," Tarrant ordered as he strode to the teleport.

"Of course, Illustrious Sir. It was not my fault sir, on the previous occasion as you yourself had ordered my silence during the at..."

"Yes, yes, I know, Slave," Tarrant replied, annoyed. "But *now* I want you to report at once."

Slave rotated, then said, "If I may be so bold sir, as to wish you luck?"

"Thank you, Slave." Tarrant nodded to Soolin, and she operated the teleport, sending him down to Gauda Prime. 

"You heard that?" Vila said, "Even Slave thinks we need luck. And we do." Vila turned back to face the women. "Avon's not like other people. Normal people don't put themselves through tortur..." Vila stopped. There had been a sound behind him which his quick ears picked up, but his mouth was even quicker and it had gone on until he realized what the sound meant. "Ah, Avon," Vila said as he whirled back around, hands braced behind himself against a console. There were four people in the teleport reception area, Tarrant standing behind three others, looking uncharacteristically subdued and uncomfortable. Vila said, "Blake... um.. Deva, is it? Nice to see..."

Avon marched past Vila, carrying Orac in both hands. "Blake, bring the parts." Avon glanced coolly at Dayna. "The engine room is pressurized, I presume?"

Dayna nodded, for once at a loss for words. Avon's mouth moved in what might have passed for a smile if you couldn't see the coldness in his eyes. "Good. Deva will give you the coordinates of our destination, and program in the contact codes. And then he will teleport back."

"No," Deva said flatly. He crossed his arms, and looked around _Scorpio's_ flight deck. "I'm staying."

"Blake," Avon said, warningly.

"Not my idea," Blake assured him. "Deva."

Deva looked less sure of himself when Blake stared at him, but he said, "I reasoned it out, why you're leaving, and I agree with you. But I don't trust them, and you and Avon can't watch them all the time. I'm not needed on G.P. any longer, anyway."

Blake glanced at Avon. "This one's your call, Avon."

Avon shrugged. Deva could have assured Avon's death merely by doing nothing. Instead he had saved him. Whatever else, Deva wasn't Avon's unknown assassin. "I don't distrust Deva. Now, let's see what we can do about the drive." Avon continued on to the engine compartment, guiding Blake.

"Practically a vote of confidence, that was," Vila said to Deva, who frowned at him.

Tarrant said, "Well, we might as well get on with it." He accepted the coordinates from Deva and set their course.

***

"Kerr. Stop." Blake yawned ostentatiously. "Maybe you aren't tired, but I am."

Avon glanced up at Blake. He had been kneeling for hours, checking the linkages from the star-drive to the original engine circuitry, and he felt momentarily dizzy at the change in orientation. He steadied himself against the housing. "We need to be prepared to install the replacements. The patch Tarrant put on will not last much longer."

"Which is why we are going out of our way. This is a quiet part of the universe. Let's get some rest now, while we can."

Avon frowned. "Not just yet. You go."

"Avon," Blake said, exasperated. "Look, I know this was your ship and I've tried not to undermine your authority with the others, but I won't risk all our lives just so you can play iron man." Towards the end, his voice became affectionate, making 'iron man' an endearment rather than censure.

"Play?" Avon said, keeping a straight face despite the temptation to grin. "I _am_ cold, hard, and insensitive. Ask anyone."

"Hmm." Blake tapped a finger against his own mouth. "No. I don't think I would accept rumors in place of evidence." He knelt, wrapped his arms around Avon and held him in place for a lengthy, searching kiss, welding Avon to him with hot hands and hotter mouth. 

Somewhere along the way, Avon dropped the tool he was holding- out of necessity. You can't hold a laser probe and unfasten a heavy leather tunic at the same time.

***

Vila was surprised. Not so much at finding Avon and Blake going at it hot and heavy among the circuit-links...well, actually, he was surprised at that, too. You never really expect people to act different from the way you're used to seeing them. He'd seen Blake being tender with Avon on Gauda Prime, and said 'oh, all right, *that* explains a lot', but he'd never got it properly into his head.

He'd sort of imagined Avon growling and snapping with Blake ordering Avon into his position like a wild-animal trainer cracking the whip. Either that, or both of them somehow being prim and proper Alpha about it...'is this position an effective one, Blake? Or shall we try number twelve, instead?'

So hearing Avon whimpering and moaning in that soft, broken voice, seeing his legs locked around Blake's waist and his hands on Blake's buttocks urging him on, was a bit of a surprise. It froze Vila with his mouth open to relay Tarrant's suggestion that they take up orbit around some nice quiet asteroid before the engine blew again. His legs wouldn't work either to carry him back out into the corridor or further in to where he could join in the party, which was patently stupid, but Kerrill had been the last affection he'd had in ages, unless you count the love-affair he'd had with Dorian's wine.

And then Blake's eyes opened. He saw Vila, and the fury in his eyes sent Vila staggering back, shaking his head in mute protest. Avon must have sensed something, for he made a querulous protest. Blake immediately looked down at Avon. Vila saw the transformation from fury to a vast protective love that he would have given almost anything to have directed at him, and then Blake's face was hidden from his view, as Blake murmured, "No, love, it's all right, Kerr... Kerr..." in between a flurry of swift, light kisses over Avon's face, closing his eyes and distracting his ears from Vila's flight.

Vila went back to the flight deck, still trying to decide what most surprised him. It was a toss-up between finding that Avon was human, and discovering that Vila regretted never having made a pass at him. Either way, he felt uncomfortable. It had been easy setting Avon up when Vila saw him as a cold, inhuman monster who'd tried to toss Vila out an airlock and then made sick jokes about it. It had been easy to hate that Avon.

"Well?" Tarrant asked the instant Vila set foot on the flight deck.

"What?"

"Vila. If it's not too much trouble, would you mind telling me what they said?"

Vila felt a warmth rising in his cheeks. "Um. You don't really want to know what they said. They were... um... busy."

Tarrant stared at Vila, and then comprehension hit. He laughed. "In the _engine room_?" He shook his head. "Well, it was only a courtesy to inform them what we're doing with our ship." Tarrant turned back to the controls. "We could all use some rest. I'll lock us into orbit, and then I'm going off-shift."

Vila glanced at the sleep-cubicles. Deva, Dayna and Soolin currently occupied three of them. "Erm. There aren't enough cubicles unless we..." He fell silent at Tarrant's raised eyebrows.

"Don't let Blake and Avon give you any ideas." Tarrant stood and stretched. "Besides, one of us has to stay on watch. I don't trust Slave's ability to resist Avon's wiles. I swear, if a computer could wag its tail..." Tarrant shook his head again. "The controls are locked, orbit's fixed, detectors set. If you have any problems, wake me."

Vila sat down. "Yeah." He sighed and poked at a button randomly. "Does being bored count as a problem?"

"No." Tarrant left.

"You're no fun," Vila muttered. Then he smiled. "With Blake and Avon on board, things should be interesting. Wait. Interesting. Oh, no, no, I've changed my mind, I like being bored."


End file.
